MashUp
by syntheticpoetry
Summary: A collection of mainly Klaine prompt responses and drabbles. #3: "Picture Perfect"
1. Three To Tango

Author's Note: Another tumblr prompt: Sebklaine. Sebastian decides if he can't take one he'll take both.

* * *

He's clicking his tongue while he waits. The rest of the Warblers pace the room behind him, chatting amongst themselves in naïve obliviousness. He hasn't informed them they have guests joining them for this rehearsal. He hasn't informed them that, among those guests, Blaine Anderson will be in attendance. He checks his watch.

Quarter after three.

He supposes it's about time they start.

He calls their attention to begin. "Focus," he tells them, "I don't care who walks in, we don't stop until we're done."

They begin just as the heavy, wooden double doors are opening. Some are genuinely surprised by the appearance of this band of misfits, but every one of them does as Sebastian instructed: focus. Blaine, Kurt, Santana and Rachel are carrying Artie's wheelchair down the small set of steps as Sebastian takes his place in the center of the room. His smug, enthusiastic smile seems extra bright and mischievous when his eyes fall on Blaine and he twirls his way out of the Warbler circle and over to their audience.

He puts on quite a show, making especially sure to rattle Santana's and Rachel's nerves, but he's really only performing for Blaine. He has something to prove.

"_Someone picked you from the bunch, one glance is all it took,"_ he smirks and leans in towards Blaine who recoils and walks away. He isn't even fazed when Kurt strides quickly after him; in fact, it fuels his fire more. Sebastian's close behind, his gaze falling briefly onto Kurt's ass, before he falls back in line with the rest of the Warblers. Though Blaine's emotions are evident in his stiff expression, Sebastian is more interested in the way Kurt stares blankly ahead.

He wonders what Kurt is pondering in that pretty little head of his.

He dances his way over to Blaine again, catches Kurt's wide eyes in his peripheral vision, and an idea crosses his mind. If he can't have Blaine, he'll try for Kurt instead. Of course, it's Blaine that he really wants though. But the idea swells so rapidly and soon he's leaning in towards Kurt, batting his eyes with the same lustful expression he grants Blaine. Blaine seems taken aback by the sudden change of Sebastian's target. He knows the two of them are playing right into his hand with the subtle exchange of silent understanding that happens very briefly before his own eyes.

He understands Kurt's previous vacant stare now.

"_Oh, darling I was blind to let you go,'_ he thrusts his hips rhythmically, glancing between the two of them and his crotch with a knowing smile. Blaine's expression is still stiff, but less so now. Kurt's taken to avoiding looking at Sebastian, almost guiltily. Sebastian uses this and closes the gap between himself and Blaine, leans in and whispers a single word in his ear, "Later?"

He backs away before Blaine can even think to answer, turning in slow rhythmic circles as he struts about the room. His enthusiasm as they finish their performance is three times what it was at the start. He immediately speaks when they've stopped, "Well, if you guys want to forfeit now? You can go ahead," he smirks and raises his hands in an extravagant gesture. "Or, Blaine, if you want to rejoin the group you abandoned…" he speaks for exhibition, pretends he expects Blaine to consider this offer.

Blaine plays along.

"I used to be… really proud of being a Warbler. Not because we were good, but because we were really classy," he crosses his arms over his chest, accentuates the last word and approaches Sebastian. The playful flickering in his eyes suggests something his tone does not, "None of that was classy. None of it," he shakes his head and walks away. As he passes though, he discreetly whispers back to Sebastian, "Later."

Kurt becomes aware of his surroundings once again and hurries after Blaine as they carry Artie's wheelchair up the stairs again. Sebastian is still smiling smugly when they are out of view. His grin broadens when, a few moments later, he receives a text from an unknown number.

_It's Kurt. What time should we stop by?_


	2. I'll Follow Quietly

Author's Note: Tumblr prompt: Dave's thoughts leading up to his attempt.

* * *

'_This wasn't the way things were supposed to be.'_

This was senior year. What's the saying? These are the best years of your life? He'd like to give the wise guy who coined the silly phrase a piece of his mind. Probably some perfect guy, with some perfect, problem-free life. Perfect _everything_. These were certainly not the best years of _his_ life. That phrase couldn't be relevant to anyone in today's day and age. Not by a long shot. Not a snowball's chance in hell.

The best years of your life… what a joke.

He feels his heart literally stop as he walks into the gym locker room. The snide remarks behind him sound muffled. It takes twice as long to process what he's hearing.

"Problem, faggot?" the football team captain approaches him with a snarl.

"I think he's checking you out. Don't get any ideas, fag," comes another predator from his left.

'_It wasn't supposed to be like this.'_

He shakes his head and the only coherent thought to come to mind is a simple action: _'Run.'_ And so he tries to, but he's outnumbered. And their eyes are filled with fire as they close in on him, threatening to burn him alive.

'_It just wasn't supposed to be like this.'_

They shove him around as he tries to leave. They bare their teeth and snarl like animals, spit and threaten him like he's a stranger in their territory. When did these so called friends of his cease to be human?

'_Was this how Kurt felt? Is this what I did to him?'_

The sudden realization weighs him down and brings tears to his eyes. His animalistic company merely takes this as confirmation of their suspicions. They howl and taunt and scream after him when he finally breaks past their barrier and sprints all the way to his end zone-bedroom. But this does not feel like a victory – it's the farthest from one that it could ever be – and this does not feel like safety from the opposing team. It feels like a prison.

'_I can't go back there, they'll eat me alive.'_

His laptop chirps instant messenger notifications from his desk; he forgot to close it before leaving this morning. He's terrified to look now, but curiosity always trumps fear and he's drawn to the cursed gadget as though in some sort of trance. He can't look away. Not from all the slurs and hatred and death threats and-

'_Oh god, how could I do this to Kurt everyday? How could he still have the courage to walk through those halls?'_

For some silly reason he decides to assess the damage on his Facebook. He knew what it was like to be hated, but not like this. Not to this extent. Not because of this reason.

'_And what do I have left? Who do I have left?'_

He's dialed Kurt's number before he can even realize it. And the voicemail message bounces around his overcrowded head a few times before he hangs up and tries once more. And then once more. And another, just in case. Until he's called nine times and realizes-

'_He hates you too, you idiot. Look what you did to him.'_

And the thought slithers its way to his heart and starts constricting itself around the useless, broken thing. He glances at the laptop screen and the notifications are endlessly piling up. In another hazy moment he sees his laptop on the floor and figures he must have pushed it – threw it? – off of his desk. It dawns on him that he's trembling, and he doesn't remember ever crying quite like this before.

'_You don't deserve him. You don't deserve anyone.'_

And so the dark "solution" weasels its way into his brain; the poor thing is too downtrodden and weak to fight it off. Instead he welcomes it, loudly; invites it in to stay. But this guest doesn't plan to stay long. This guest is very cunning and swift and soon it'll have finished its business and be on its angst-ridden way.

But first he prepares, picks out his nicest clothes and cries some more. He doesn't feel in control of his own body anymore. He's handed the reins over to this understanding presence that's promised to take away the pain. He dresses himself up in his Sunday best and presses his palms into his eye sockets.

'_Stop it. Stop crying. You're pathetic. Just get it over with and everyone will be a lot happier. They're better off without you anyway…'_

He sniffles and turns his gaze upward to the rafter in his closet. His supposed salvation, his one way ticket to the promised land of bliss and euphoria. The tears start up again, but he doesn't brush them away this time. There's no more time for that. He steps onto the chair and slips the noose around his neck. A soft, choking noise finally escapes his throat and he realizes he's past the point of silent tears- full on sobs are wracking his body and his trembling is so bad he fumbles to tighten the damn thing.

'_Is this how things were meant to turn out? Was I doomed to this ever since I started bullying…'_

He shuts his eyes. He can't even bring himself to think Kurt's name now.

'_I'm so sorry…'_


	3. Picture Perfect

**Tumblr Prompt: PROMPT TIMMMEE! so i saw this video earlier today watch?v=mnCYnNgHoHE and thought how cute it would be withe klaine, maybe Blaine comes home to big smiles from their baby or babies :)**

* * *

"Kurt, I'm home!" Blaine closes the door behind himself, the stress of the day still trailing in after him. He pulls on his satchel when the strap catches on the doorknob, "God— " he starts off loudly but his words lose intensity before the second syllable, "damnit."

He calmly unhooks the strap from the handle and calls out again, "Kurt?"

He hears whispers from the next room and raises an eyebrow, to no one in particular, before setting his things down beside their blue, plaid sofa. Kurt was usually one for little surprises, something Blaine had been made well aware of when they first started living together. He had some sort of sixth sense when it came to Blaine's foul moods and immediately worked towards lifting his spirits without so much as a hint from his dearly beloved.

Blaine runs a hand through his frizzy curls—the humidity of the day having evaporated what little product Kurt let him leave the house with — and considers stopping into the bathroom to slather his hair with gel. Kurt had refused to let him continue on with his "gelmets" once they moved in together after high school; days like today made Blaine curse being so easily swayed by Kurt's desires. But when your husband murmurs, "You never know when I might want you to shove me up against a wall and fuck me— I want something to grab onto," it doesn't take much convincing at all.

He decides against the bathroom trip and steps into the room beside it. Kurt gasps upon his arrival, camera in hand and fixed on their bouncing, twin boys, "Look who's home!"

Immediately the room is filled with eager, ecstatic squeals; perfectly harmonizing with each other. Blaine feels his stress melt away and Kurt smiles at him from behind the camera. "Who's that? Is that daddy?" a set of happy giggles respond to him, "Yeah, it's daddyyyy."

Blaine strides over to Kurt and kneels down, kisses his cheek gently and whispers, though the camera records the low volume regardless, "I love you."

Kurt leans into velvet lips, his face scrunched up in absolute bliss, and they share a look of _could this possibly be our life right now?_

Blaine sits down in front of their boys and opens his mouth, wide, to show his surprise. The twins eat up every minute of it.

Kurt can already see his husband's affectionate, signature grin on the faces of their baby boys'. He shuts off the camera and decides to selfishly capture the moment for himself, burning the image of their perfect family into his memory.

Yes, this could be, and definitely is, their life right now.


End file.
